amuse bouche
by airbefore
Summary: It's two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon and they've yet to get dressed, have spent the entire day camped out on his overstuffed leather couch, watching movies and teasing each other mercilessly with fleeting caresses and innuendo laden comments. One shot. Complete.


**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

* * *

He watches her saunter across his living room, his old Batman t-shirt swallowing her thin frame, the hem fluttering gently around her thighs as she skirts the kitchen island and moves toward the refrigerator. It's two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon and they've yet to get dressed, have spent the entire day camped out on his overstuffed leather couch, watching movies and teasing each other mercilessly with fleeting caresses and innuendo laden comments. She's bet him that he can't go forty-eight hours without sex and he's determined to prove her wrong.

Twenty-seven hours down. He can _totally_ do this.

Kate tugs open the refrigerator door and peruses the contents, her fingers drumming lightly against the stainless steel. Grinning, he rolls off the couch and bounds over to her, repressed energy coiled tightly in his muscles. His breath catches when she bends over to peer into the crisper, the shirt riding up over her ass. Her bare ass.

That's just not fair.

She jumps when his fingers make contact with the backs of her thighs, the tips just barely skating over skin.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Trying to decide if I want a snack or not." Straightening, she leans her shoulders back against him, her body blocking out the chill emanating from the refrigerator. "Are you hungry?"

Castle wraps his hands around her waist and tugs, pulling her flush against his chest. Her ass falls into the cradle of this thighs and she sighs, her head landing heavily on his shoulder. "I could eat." She shivers as his hands skim over the arc of her ribs, the threadbare t-shirt so thin that he swears he can feel skin instead of cotton.

"What do you want?" Her voice hits the wall and bounces back at him, breathy and low. She gasps when his thumbs brush over her nipples, already peaked from the cool air wafting out of the open refrigerator.

"You."

"I'm not - _oh_," she stops, her breath hitching at the feel of his open mouth on the side of her neck. "I'm not on the menu, Castle."

"I'm ordering the special." His hands slide to her stomach, fingers twisting into her shirt, bunching the loose material up until he can reach the hem. She rocks back into him when he scrapes his pinkies over the bony jut of her hips. Nipping at her neck, Castle angles his hands in, the arrow of his fingers sliding down toward the undeniable pull of the heat radiating from between her thighs.

"Are you conceding the bet?"

"No."

Kate uses the momentum of the slamming refrigerator door to spin out of his arms, her back connecting with the stainless steel as she plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back. "Then no ordering off the menu for you."

Castle plants his hands on either side of her ribs and moves closer, boxing her with the breadth of his bare chest. Her gaze flicks down to his mouth as he leans down, a look of wild hunger flitting through her eyes.

"I can have a _snack_," he nips at the side of her neck, the salt of her skin bright and tangy on the tip of his tongue, "without breaking the rules."

"And how exactly do you figure that?" Her hands are flirting with his stomach, slim fingers plucking at the loose waistband of his khaki shorts.

"Loophole."

Castle takes another step into her space, presses himself into her abdomen; his hands slip to her waist again, tugging at her shirt until she gasps as her bare ass connects with the cold door of the steadily humming appliance. Kate's head rolls to the side, exposing the long line of her throat and he follows her unspoken suggestion, drops his mouth to the side of her neck, lets his tongue graze over her jumping pulse.

"Loophole?"

"Yep. You said that I couldn't go two full days without trying to get in your pants. And, in case you failed to notice, Detective," he drags the tips of his fingers over the outside of her thighs, smiling into her skin as she shivers against him, "you are not currently wearing pants." He moves his lips to her ear, flicks the lobe with the tip of his tongue. "Thus, loophole."

"Semantics," she growls as he pulls her away from the refrigerator, spinning them around on the spot. Her eyes are dark and liquid when she leans back from him, want swirling heavily across her face.

"That's what you get for sleeping with a writer, Beckett." He nods at the counter behind her, tensing his grip around her waist; she doesn't respond but pushes onto the balls of her feet, jumping as he lifts her up. Grinning at the willingness of her body, he steps into the vee of her legs, fingers trailing lightly over the length of her thighs.

"Are you seriously parsing my syntax in an effort to find a way to have sex without losing the bet?"

"Say 'parsing my syntax' again. _So_ hot."

"You're being too literal." Her hands slide over his chest, eyes following hotly in their wake. "'Get in my pants' is a common and well-known colloquialism used to indicate intercourse of any kind, not just intercourse that occurs when pants are present and/or removed."

Kate looks up at him through the veil of her lashes, a sly grin tipping up the corners of her lips. She knows what she's doing, knows exactly how to wind him up. _Fuck_. He dips down and catches her lips, sucks her words into his lungs with the greedy curl of his tongue. Slowly, he lowers himself to his knees in front of her, smiling as she leans down as far as she can, following the pull of his lips. Kate whines softly when he breaks away from her kiss, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a cunning linguist," he grins into the soft skin at the inside of her knee, his hands skimming over the curve of her calves, gently tugging her legs apart.

She groans, her toes digging into his ribs. "I cannot believe you just made that lame-ass joke. I really thought you had higher standards, Castle."

"Nope. I like my jokes cheap and easy. Just like I like my -"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence." She glares down at him, eyebrows crawling up her forehead.

"Eggs," he laughs. "Cheap and easy like my eggs."

Her foot connects with his shoulder. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Just go with, Beckett."

Castle wraps his fingers around her ankle and pulls it back, balances her calf in the crook of his neck. He looks up at her as he drags his mouth over the inside of her thigh, the taste of her body lotion heavy on his tongue. The edges of the tile floor dig into his shins and his knees are already starting to ache but the lust coursing through his veins blocks out the pain, urges him forward. He can smell her, musky and rich, and his mouth fills up with liquid want, tongue slick and thick between his cheeks.

Hands running over the outside curve of her thighs, he leans in and slides his tongue against the line of her hip. Her abdomen clenches as he uses his teeth to belay down the curve of her stomach, his fingers digging into the firm muscles of her thighs. She parts for him willingly, her bent knees falling open without prompting or encouragement. He watches her face when he flicks his tongue against her briefly, her eyes boring into his as he pulls back, mouth skimming lightly over her trembling inner thigh.

"Have I told you how amazing you taste?" He smacks his lips around the words, lets the heat of his breath flow over her skin. "How you're bitter and sweet, perfectly smooth on my tongue?"

"Fuck, Castle," she groans, fingers slipping into his hair.

"I love," he inches closer, drags his nose over the hard ridge of her pubic bone, "the noises you make. You get so much louder when my mouth is on you, Beckett." He plants a kiss to the crease her thigh, the edge of his lips just brushing the outside swell of her lips. "Why is that? Do you like it when I make you come with just my lips and tongue?"

"You know I do."

"Why? Tell me." He sucks hard on the apex of her thigh, laves over the reddened flesh with the flat of his tongue. "Tell me what you like. What you want."

"I want your mouth." Her hands fist in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Why?"

He resists her pull, stares up into her face; she runs a thumb over his temple, her touch soft and full of so much unexpected affection that it stops his heart for moment. He leans into it, lets her hands caress him along with her words.

"Because you enjoy it just as much as I do." Her voice husky, dripping with molten desire. "You might even enjoy it more than I do. _You_ make noises too." Without breaking eye contact, he parts her with his tongue and they both moan as her arousal spills over his lips. "Like that," she pants. "Fuck."

Castle pulls back, his mouth full of her, and smiles. "I can't help it. You just taste so fucking good. And it's because of me. _This_," he dips back into her and sucks lightly on her clit, sends her hips bucking roughly against the granite countertop, "is for me."

Her fingers are tourists in his hair, tripping over the rolling terrain of his scalp, and she nods at him, a smile playing on her lips, the worn Batman logo bunched up around her chest, hair tumbling carelessly over her shoulders. "God, you're gorgeous," he breathes, pressing his cheek against her thigh. She moans out his name when he darts forward and dives into her, his tongue swirling rapidly against her.

His hearing goes dim, a rush of waves crashing against his eardrums, as she cups her fingers around his ears and pulls, hips rocking desperately into his touch. Her head tips back and she rides his mouth, heels digging into his shoulder blades. Dragging his right hand around under her thigh, he slicks his thumb over her, rubs a rough circle around her clit. One hand falls from his hair to brace on the counter and he pulls back, her low whine filling his ears.

"Don't stop," she begs. "Please."

"Watch me," he commands, a sharp bite to her thigh jerking her head forward. Her eyes are hazy and unfocused as she blinks down at him, throat convulsing. "Watch me make you come, Beckett."

Her hips lift off the counter when he slides his mouth over her again, a dirty growl riding deep in her throat. His stubble scrapes over her thighs as he bobs between them, fucking her with his tongue. He watches her mouth, lips parted, wordless moans trapped within the cage of her teeth. Her eyes go wide when he hums against her, his lungs vibrating against his ribs. With a quirk of an eyebrow, Castle replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking her clit into the cup of his tongue.

He can almost see the stars explode behind her eyes as she comes for him, her body jerking violently against the counter.

Slowing, he gently works her with his lips while she calms down, her legs quivering over his shoulders. "You okay?" He pulls back, hands running softly over her thighs.

"Shit," she sighs, her chest heaving. "That was -"

"Really, really good?"

"Yeah."

He slips her legs from over his shoulders and braces himself on the edge of the counter. With a grimace, he stands, knees popping loudly.

"What are you giggling at?"

"You're old," she laughs, her tone loose and lilting with residual pleasure.

"Ouch." He grabs at his chest and stumbles back, a pout falling over his face. "You wound me, woman."

"What have I told you about calling me woman?" She hops off the counter and lands in front of him, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

"That you love it more than you can say?"

"Uh-huh. Sure." Kate rolls her eyes, turning away from him and heading back to the living room. "You'd better clean that counter, Castle. And don't forget that you now have kitchen duties for the next two weeks." She spins back to face him when she reaches the couch. "At both apartments."

"Nope. The bet is still on."

"Oh, is it?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you left that loophole open. If you didn't want me to exploit the blatant flaw in your original statement, then you should have put on some pants this morning." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the refrigerator. "I'm gonna make a sandwich. You want one?"

Kate props herself up on the back of the couch, eyebrow raised. "Your snack wasn't filling?"

"Oh, that was just an appetizer. An amuse-bouche, even. The main course will be served in," he flicks his eyes to the clock on the microwave, "approximately twenty hours."

He listens to her laugh as he pulls open the refrigerator door, starts pulling out the ingredients for his sandwich.

"Don't spoil your appetite, Castle. I'd hate for you to not be able to _finish_."


End file.
